


Seemed Easier than Just Waiting Around to Die

by thereweregiants



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Erectile Dysfunction, Erotic Electrostimulation, Medical Procedures, Multi, Pre-Fall of Overwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 07:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18890005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereweregiants/pseuds/thereweregiants
Summary: SEP built them into the perfect soldiers, but damaged them in ways they don't talk about.





	Seemed Easier than Just Waiting Around to Die

**Author's Note:**

> slightly based in reality, mostly fantasy  
> tens units and violet wands and such are fun, but read up - not fanfiction - before using them friendos
> 
>  
> 
> title from Townes Van Zandt's [Waiting Around to Die](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l4zfEkKs2ZM)  
> soundtrack to writing was the National's I Am Easy to Find

Gabe sits on the examination table, bored out of his skull. Blood is draining from his arm into a bag hung off the side of the table as Moira has her back to him, making notes at her desk. Yet another day, yet another set of tests. Again. Again. 

A bottle nudges his hand. “Drink,” Moira says, not bothering to look up from her one-handed typing. Gabe takes the bottle, drains it. It has the vague sweet-saltiness of an electrolyte drink - he does this enough that they don’t even bother giving him the flavored versions any more. That should be disrespectful, given who he is, but somehow he can’t find it in him to care. He sets it aside, leans back on his free hand to watch the bright redness flow into the slowly-expanding bag. 

They used to do it all nice and formally - Moira hunched over his elbow, clicking tube after tube into place. She eventually figured out how to rig up a bag to keep everything fresh, though, and now she just shoves the largest bore needle she can locate into an artery and lets his heart and gravity do the rest. She then uses the bag like a giant juice pouch with a valve, taking however much she needs in order to do...whatever it is she does.

At first, it was just analysis. Taking samples of Gabe’s SEP-enhanced blood and muscles and bone marrow and just about everything else, and trying to determine what, exactly, had been done to them. Jack and Gabe had just lived through it, figuring some things out through trial and error. The program had been shut down decades ago, and as far as they knew the two of them were the only remnants of it. 

Survivors. Whatever.

Moira could explain some things, not others. That time they had the fluorescent purple stuff injected into them that burned like battery acid and they couldn’t go near any kind of light for days? Well, that gave their cells resistance to UV rays. Gabe might die tomorrow, but it sure as hell isn’t going to be from skin cancer. But the time they inhaled blue powder and tasted nothing but bitterness for a week? Or when they had something inserted along their spinal cords, something that’s grown so interwoven with the nerves that Moira can’t even get a sample without risking paralysis? 

Who knows. Certainly not anyone still alive.

Moira still analyzes, but now she does other things, too. Injects this or that, tells him to keep track of his sleep for a month, gives him candy-colored tablets to take for a week here, a week there. Puts electrodes on him and smiles just a bit when the smoke starts to boil off and his hands turn black. You know, the usual doctor-type things. 

Gabe bends his arm automatically at the pressure when the needle is pulled, a cotton ball and tape doing their best to keep his fluids inside of him until he starts to heal (too fast, too completely). Moira taps at his shoulder with a latex-covered hand.

“On your left side, knees to your chest.” Oh joy, a spinal tap. Those are always a sign of fun to come. Gabe does as asked. Quick, cold swipes of antiseptic, the pinch of a needle that delivers the local anesthetic. He metabolizes it too fast to do much good, but it at least will cover the needle’s initial insertion. Nothing ever touches the headache that comes after, though.

“Any special occasion?” he asks, wincing as the local wears off and he feels the throb around the thin needle.

“There’s something I’m working towards, involving your genetic material,” Moira says.

“A geneticist interested in genetic material. Fascinating.”

He can’t see it, but he’s sure Moira is rolling her eyes behind him. “There’s something about your APQ4 proteins that is unusual, either I’ll have it sorted right away or it will be...a while to determine what the importance might be.” Aka she’ll have no goddamn clue. Surprise, surprise. He knows that she’s basically trying to use a flashlight to explore the twisted and endless abyss that is his body, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating to know that something might be significant but there’s no way to actually know what that significance might be.

Gabe grits his teeth against the pulling of the needle, breathing deeply when it’s finally out. He waits while Moira tapes another cotton ball to him, giving it a full minute before attempting to get up. He only had to sit up too early once after a lumbar puncture for him to never do it again. Vomiting while low on cerebrospinal fluid is a unique and horrific experience.

Slowly dragging his shirt back on, Gabe is only half-listening to Moira as she gives the usual spiel about keeping his fluids up, using a biotic pack if his head hurts too much, et cetera, et cetera. He blinks his way back to alertness as she moves on to talking about the next appointment.

“...need a decent sample, so do try and not get off between now and then. Apologies for the inconvenience.”

He shakes his head, wincing at the movement. “Run that by me again?”

Moira sighs. “Semen, Gabriel. I told you, about the cataloguing of proteins. That and blood, next week.”

“Can you stick a needle in, just pull some out?”

Moira turns, looks Gabe in the face for what might be the first time that day. “Curious you should say that, Gabriel. Most men would do just about anything to avoid needles in that area. Is there any reason you’d feel uncomfortable giving a sample the normal way?”

Her question is almost reasonable: Gabe has been in every position possible, with every bit of him - including those bits better left inside - exposed to her over the years. It’s not like this is a step too far. But it’s not that, not that at all.

“SEP damaged us,” he says bluntly. “Even as it put us back together faster, stronger. Better, in their eyes. They missed some things, though. Or maybe they didn’t, maybe it was by design.” He gestures down at himself, at the soft lump between his legs under the fabric of his sweatpants. “I haven’t orgasmed in twenty five years, Moira. Can’t get hard, can’t...process attraction the way I, the way we used to.”

Moira looks fascinated, almost predatory. “We, you say? This was you and Jack?”

“All of us. We were down to maybe fifty by that point. I honestly don’t even remember much about it, it was just some random injection like any other day. Then I woke up without morning wood. Couldn’t get off in the shower, couldn’t get off that night.” He pauses, realizes he doesn’t care what Moira knows. The shame about everything died some time during the first time smoke came streaming out of his nose and he nearly had a panic attack right in front of her. “Jack and I were together, back then. Tried everything we knew on each other and then some, nothing worked. Finally decided that either SEP thought sex’d be a distraction or they didn’t want their precious fucked up genetic patents wandering around in the world. Both, probably.”

He doesn’t talk about the solutions they’d attempted over the years. They could have opened a sex store by the end, with its own pharmaceutical section. They’d given up eventually, too tired and too wrapped up in their jobs to worry about something that would only complicate things anyways.

There’s a clank, and somehow Gabe isn’t surprised to see Moira attaching stirrups to the table. “Pants off, Gabriel. Lie back and think of Blackwatch.” 

He sighs and obeys. 

Gabe stares at the ceiling as Moira’s cool hands lift and prod. She squeezes him carefully, stokes down his shaft a few times, gently feels around his balls. Gabe can’t remember what it feels like to be hard anymore, can’t even really remember what his erection looked like. He can remember Jack, that’ll always be seared into his grey matter, but himself? It’s been too many years.

“Are you attracted to women at all?”

“I used to be. If you’re asking if that’s why I’m not reacting, I promise it’s not.” 

Moira lifts his legs out of the stirrups, hands him his pants. She cocks her head at him at he slowly sits up, mind working hard behind those mismatched eyes. “Where exactly does the sexual attraction...stop, I suppose? A surprising part of arousal is in the mind, you know.”

Gabe shrugs. There’s a spark in his brain when he sees something that appeals. McCree, his thick, nimble fingers lighting a cigar before spinning mid-puff to blow someone’s brains out. Ana, chest heaving as she breathes deep to bring herself into the meditative sniper mindset. Even Moira, god help him, her clever hands dancing over scalpels and making flesh waltz to her tune. 

Jack. Jack in...everything, every way. Not even a spark any more but a low thrum at the back of his lizard brain where something in him still  _ wants _ .

He explains, the best he can. How his brain marks the interest but it dies out before it goes anywhere past his chest. How he can touch himself all he wants, but it’s like touching his elbow, or knee, but without even the pleasure that those could theoretically cause. 

Moira is typing as quickly as her fingers will let her, long after Gabe stops talking. She stops, finally, looking up in what almost looks like surprise to see him still there.

“Give me...hmm. A week. I will see what I can come up with.”

“Moira, I didn’t -”

“A week, Gabriel. I will see you then.”

He glowers, but she’s already turned back to her desk. Moira listens surprisingly well, takes orders and executes them even as she adds her own color commentary. But here, in her lab, she is monarch and rules over all - even Gabe. To an extent.

Gabe zips his hoodie up, and tries not to think about the fact that the first person to touch his cock in twenty-odd years is Moira fucking O’Deorain in latex gloves.

-x-x-x-x-x-

When Gabe shows up the next week, the lab is empty. “Moira?” he calls out, and is answered with a muffled response from behind a door he’s never been though. Opening it, he blinks.

It’s not exactly a honeymoon suite, but it’s certainly more welcoming-looking than the usual lab rooms he finds himself in. The lights are, if not exactly dim, lower than the usual eye-searing levels. The examination table isn’t one Gabe’s seen before, larger than usual and with some kind of padding. Moira is bent over a table at the side with a dizzying array of items laid out before him, none of which he recognizes. 

“This is. Different,” he says, finally. 

Moira glances over, her eerie red eye pinning him in place. “I’m not having this fail because of circumstance and a cold laboratory,” she says, and Gabe notices that the air is in fact warmer than usual. “Get undressed and onto the examination table.” Gabe does so, boredly watching his knobby toes swing back and forth as Moira rattles this and that.

“Before trying anything I’ve rigged up,” Moira says as she snaps a glove on. “I need to check for myself that everything you’ve said has been correct.”

Joy. 

Gabe ends up with a pulse ox sensor on his finger, electrodes on his chest monitoring his heart, more on his temples monitoring...something. There’s a thin strip of rubber with wires coming off of it around his dick. Once Moira is satisfied she fixes him with a stare. “Please try and stimulate yourself.”

“It won’t work.”

“Yes, but until I can measure the results, your anecdotal evidence doesn’t count for much. Now, please.”

Gabe sighs, but wraps a hand around his dick. This is the first time he’s touched himself aside from pissing or in the shower in years. Well, there was that time with the leeches in Cambodia, but he tries not to think about that. He even attempts to give it a real go, dredging up memories of stolen moments in barracks beds, of a red wet mouth wrapped around him and bright, dancing eyes looking up through blond lashes. He still stays as limp as ever, the beeping of the monitors unchanging.

There’s the clatter of a keyboard, then Moira says “Turn over, please, on your hands and knees.” Gabe is pretty sure he knows what’s coming, but he still jerks at the touch to his ass, cool gloved hands that push his legs further apart.  _ At least she was considerate enough to warm the lube up _ is all Gabe can think as a long finger pushes its way into him. 

Moira’s finger locates his prostate with an ease and speed that’s somewhat worrying. Gabe can feel the pressure, but it’s like someone pressing on his ankle bone, or his wrist. Just neutral, firm touch. The nerves still fire, just...not quite right.

Long minutes pass, Moira’s fingers replaced by something larger and more solid that moves in and out, then by something even larger that vibrates with intensities going from ‘gentle rain’ to ‘jackhammer’. He wonders absently where the hell she’s getting all of this and if he ever approved sex toys in the budget. Was it made in house? Did Torb help?

“Sit back, please.” Moira sounds almost normal, but he knows her tells and can hear the thread of frustrated inquiry that weaves in when a problem is more difficult than expected. She puts two electrodes onto his groin, just above where wild, dark curls begin. These electrodes are attached to something small and electronic that she sets on the table next to him. “Back on your hands.”

He does so, and jerks a little when she flicks a switch. There’s some kind of electricity flowing between the pads that are attached to him. It’s strange, it’s almost like arousal, but external. Not able to touch him yet. “That’s...that’s almost there. Sort of. It’s confusing,” he finally says.

“Hmm.” She turns the machine off, and Gabe almost misses the buzzing that had rattled through him. Something behind him is stretching him, just a bit. More narrow than whatever she’d put in him before. The same buzzing that had tickled his way across his muscles just a minute ago starts up again, but this time it’s inside him. It’s...fuck. It’s so close to being good.

“Higher,” Gabe says, and he’s surprised to hear the roughness in his own voice. Moira clicks something, and the vibrations skittering across his insides get stronger. It’s so close but still not enough. It goes higher still, and Gabe wants to open his eyes, see if his dick is doing anything, but they’re squeezed so tightly shut he doesn’t know if he can open them. “More,” he says, but there’s no further click.

“It can’t go higher, there’s a risk of tissue death,” she says thoughtfully, and honestly the thought isn’t enough to kill Gabe’s interest, if he would get to come at the end. 

“Let me...well. This runs a risk, because of the conflicting currents. If anything could handle it, your system could, however.” Moira leaves for a moment, and when Gabe turns his head and pries open an eye to see where she went, he sees her set down a defibrillation kit right next to him. That’s reassuring.

She clicks something, the buzzing inside returning to the previous, lower level. A beep, and Gabe twitches as the electrodes on his abdomen start up again. Oh. This is...something. His hips move helplessly, caught between the two sources of stimulation. There’s a cool hand on his ass, a soft click, and Gabe’s world whites out.

His arms give out and he faceplants down onto the table. He’s coming, hard and fast and overwhelming. Distantly Gabe can feel his cock jerk, feel the contractions that are forcing him to coat his chest and the bed in body-hot come. It’s so much he can barely think, and he keeps twitching, keeps trying to force more and more out even as there’s nothing more for him to give. He tries to talk and bites his tongue, swallows a mouthful of blood.

“Too much,” he finally manages to out between gritted teeth, and Moira turns both machines down. He’s thankful that the current reduces slowly instead of shutting down completely, because he thinks the sudden change might have given him a heart attack. His muscles are twitching, individually and uncontrollably. Firm, impersonal hands rub briskly up and down his limbs, stabilizing him until he feels steady enough to flop over into a mostly-sitting position.

The table below where Gabe had been is absolutely covered in semen, and both Gabe and Moira stare at it in different types of consternation. “I should have gotten a sample container,” she mutters. “This is all contaminated.”

Gabe is just trying to wrap his head around it. “How...exactly did you do that?” he finally asks.

She shrugs. “Electroejaculation is often used on farm animals to obtain samples for breeding. And electrostimulation, the TENS unit placed on your groin, is occasionally used off-brand in alternative sexual practices. I am not sure exactly what the treatment had done to you, but it’s likely some type of chemical block. Vibratory stimulation is not enough to overcome it, but enough electricity can override just about anything. It appears that you need multiple currents in order for it to work.”

Long nails tap on plastic casing. “We’ll have to do this again next week. I still need an uncontaminated sample, and you need some time to, ah, replenish yourself.”

“Could you make it more gradual, instead of going directly from one level to another?” Gabe asks curiously.

Moira thinks. “I’m sure I could, it’s just a matter of replacing the input with a smoother dial.”

“Do it.”

She gives Gabe an assessing look. “Is that an order, commander?”

“Just do it, Moira,” Gabe sighs. Like hell is he going to pass up the option to have sex - of a sort, electrically assisted and alone - for the first time in decades. He strips the various monitors off as quickly as he can, redressing with fumbling fingers.

Gabe leaves on unsteady legs, vaguely annoyed at the slickness between his cheeks. He pauses at the top of the stairs, looking across the atrium. Jack is there, talking to Ana. He catches Gabe’s eye, gives a distracted nod and wave. Gabe nods back, but his mouth is dry as a bone. He wants to run over, tell Jack what happened, tell him that maybe they’re not as defective as they thought.

Instead he turns and goes back to his quarters, rinsing away traces of come and lube for the first time in decades.

-x-x-x-x-x-

An arm is flung over Gabe’s eyes, shielding him from the overhead lights. His muscles are still spasming with aftershocks, and Moira has to grab the collection tube before it rolls off of his stomach. Adjusting the probe unit to be more fine tuned was...very, very good. Even though it was the least romantic orgasm possible, Gabe still feels the warm, post-coital lassitude washing through his limbs. God, he could fall asleep right here…

“Get up, Gabriel. This isn’t a hotel room.”

He sits up, shakily, feeling like the lab around him might be vibrating a bit. Moira is saying something about analysis, what she’s going to do, but it feels like she’s on the other side of white noise. She finally stops talking and starts making notes, and Gabe slowly comes back to reality. 

Putting his clothing on slowly, he eyes the two electronic units. “I’m taking these.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m taking these. Assuming they need to be plugged in to recharge?”

“Gabriel, without proper supervision -”

“If Blackwatch hasn’t managed to kill me yet, this shit won’t either.” He looks the units over. “Anything I need to know?”

Moira shakes her head. “This is foolish, Gabriel. If you weren’t, well,  _ you _ in the first place, you would have had an infarction or two already. Typical human bodies are not built to handle this type of current. You could have a stroke or worse.”

Gabe leans against the table, his commander face on. “Moira. Anything I need to know.”

She looks at him for a long moment, and he isn’t sure what she sees in his face. She finally shakes her head, and picks up the smaller unit. “This is a transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation unit, TENS for short. Usually used for therapeutic purposes, soothing muscles. I won’t go into the current limits, because you blew past them some time ago.” She makes marks on the dial. “Do not go past here, or you might disrupt your heart. Never place the pads higher than your lower rib cage. Keep them to your lower stomach and groin area, don’t go too close to the other unit. Don’t use them on any damaged skin, particularly not if there is blood or other fluids.”

Moira hefts the second, larger unit. A black box with a dial, attached to an unassuming bluntly pointed metal cylinder. “This is something of my own design. An adaptation of an electroejaculation unit used on farm animals and very occasionally men with anejaculation. Far overpowered, like the other unit. Don’t have the current go past this mark.” 

Gabe shoves them into his gear bag, careful of the wires. “Gabriel.” He looks up. “I cannot stop you, but I can tell you to be careful. Please have another person there if at all possible.” She hands him a small defibrillator pack. He knows how to use it, has had to several times over the years. “This can shock you back into rhythm. Make sure no other unit is touching you if you use it.”

He’s sure that she’s judging him, thinking that he just wants to get off. It’s that, but it’s also - more. Not something he can explain to her. Gabe goes back to his quarters, shoves the bag in a corner and forgets about it for a while he goes on a mission to Bhutan.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It’s a few weeks until Gabe gets anything like downtime. Genji gets kidnapped and rescued, then McCree gets injured, then Jack pulls him in on the endless vetting of new recruits for Overwatch and seeing if any of them would be good for Blackwatch. None of them are. There’s a certain intrinsic ruthlessness than Gabe needs that none of these fresh-faced kids have. It’s not an age thing, exactly, nor even experience, although sometimes being broken by family or country or can help. 

Gabe doesn’t want to damage people just so he can have team members, but he has to admit that trauma gives them a certain spice that nothing else will.

He finally gets some time off, a rare evening to himself. He charges the units, sets them up. Puts the defibrillator kit, open, to the side as a precaution. Tells Athena that if he passes out to call Ana. Showers, long and hot. Sits. Stares.

Before, it was something that Moira was doing to him, in the name of science. This is something else. This is Gabe, trying to find...something in himself. Something he hasn’t seen in years. 

He attaches the pads to just above his groin before kneeling in bed and slowly fingering himself open. He had to commandeer some lube from the medbay, it’s not like he’s had reason to have any of his own. He’d never bottomed much, back in the day. Too concerned with ideas of what he thought masculinity was, instilled in him by the army and stomped into place by SEP. Now, with another few decades under his belt and the blood of hundreds on his hands, the idea of definition like that all seems so...pointless.

He knows who he is, knows what he’s done, knows what he’s capable of. That’s all that matters.

Gabe starts up the TENS unit, lays back in bed. Turns it up a bit, relishes for a bit how the current sweeps through him - it’s almost like building arousal. He bumps it up up up then back down. He takes the larger electro unit, squints at the dial. Spreading his legs, he slides the probe into himself. He wishes it were wider, could stretch him out to where it starts to burn. 

He hasn’t felt pleasure in years, but pain hits enough of the same nerves that it’s been the closest thing he’s had.

Flipping the unit on, Gabe tenses as he gets used to the two conflicting currents. He turns it up a little, can’t help but writhe a bit as it all flows through him. Glancing down, he blinks in shock. He’s - hard. Actually, legitimately hard. He’d honestly had no idea if he had been before or not - the first time was too fast, the second time his cock had been encased in the sterile collection unit. 

Gabe reaches down, touches himself. Is he bigger than he used to be? Smaller? Thicker? Did he always curve to the left like that? Accidentally jostling the electro unit with his elbow, Gabe can’t help the grunt that comes out as the current suddenly goes higher. There’s a drip of clear precome down his length, and he curiously swipes a finger through, brings it to his tongue. Did he always taste like that, a thin saltiness that lingers? 

He wraps one hand around himself, fingers wet with his own fluids, while the other gently pushes on the unit dial. He finds soon that if he keeps it at the same current, he can jack himself all he wants but it won’t go anywhere. He needs the electricity to come. 

Damnit.

That’s fine, he can work with that. Gabe lazily strokes himself, tightening his grip as he slowly ticks the dial up bit by bit. He slows, trying to figure out what the tipping point is. It hits out of nowhere, going from soclosesoclose to orgasm with the slightest nudge of the dial. He closes his eyes and comes. 

Gabe keeps it at that voltage for as long as he can stand it, until his cock is throbbing in his hand and coming dry. He turns it down, watching with interest as he immediately softens. He clicks both units off, staring at the ceiling as his muscles twitch slightly, dragging slow fingers through the come on his chest. 

He’s still flawed, but now there’s a workaround. A solution to an issue he’d given up as hopeless long ago. 

Gabe absently rubs the unfamiliar texture of semen into his skin, and thinks about Jack.

-x-x-x-x-x-

_ Hey Jack, want me to un-break your dick? _

_ Jack, I know it’s been twenty five years, but we should fuck. I swear it’ll work. _

_ Put down those files on dead Overwatch members. I think I can make you come. No, really! _

It doesn’t matter how Gabe phrases it, he can’t think of a single way to reasonably bring all of this up. In the end, of course, it doesn’t even matter.

Ana is Jack’s right hand, but Gabe is everything else. It’s hard to put a name to what they are - they keep their groups carefully separate, Jack because Overwatch needs to be above board at all times in order to keep legitimacy, Gabe because if Jack doesn’t know what they do in the shadows then he won’t have to shine a light on it.

They both have blood on their hands, but Jack wears gloves while the stains are baked deep in to Gabe’s skin.

As professional as they try to keep things, they’re still Jack and Gabe. And sometimes Jack will just show up, seething at some bullshit the UN is trying to pull or the incompetence of this or that country’s leadership or god damnit Ana needs to stop trying to mother him. 

He’ll just appear in Gabe’s quarters, sweatpants on and not a bit of blue leather in sight. Sometimes Gabe just keeps doing what he’s doing - working out, reading, going about his evening routine. Sometimes he sets his papers down and listens. Sometimes he argues. Sometimes, if it’s one of those times that Gabe is involved in whatever is stressing Jack out and he knows he won’t be able to talk without saying things that can’t be taken back, Gabe leaves him there to rant alone to Gabe’s walls. When he comes back in the morning, his sheets will be rumpled and Jack will be gone.

It’s Jack and Gabe. It works, somehow.

This time it’s something minor that Gabe doesn’t care about, something about recruits and training and disagreeing with Ana as to how they should be going forward. Gabe has had enough of recruits and their starry eyed innocence, so he’s listening with half an ear at best as he reads up on the Vatican. There’s a chance they might need to get in there pretty soon, and he’s trying to figure out the least embarrassing route. Sticking McCree in a cardinal’s outfit isn’t going to cut it this time.

Jack pauses in his speech to flop down on Gabe’s couch, and comes to a stop with his mouth open. He cocks his head as he looks at the top of Gabe’s dresser. “What’s all of that?”

Gabe is hoping that he isn’t looking at what he’s looking at but - nope, Jack’s looking curiously at the pile of wires and electronics that Gabe shoved haphazardly there the other night after cleaning everything up. Well, this was one way to approach it.

“Ah. Well.” Gabe is trying to think of how to talk about it. Jack now has his eyebrows raised - Gabriel Reyes is many things, but hesitant is not one of them. 

“It was a thing for Moira, at first.” Jack rolls his eyes, but his opinion on Moira is a can of worms that Gabe just doesn’t want to crack open tonight. “Jack, no. She needed to get samples, but…” he trails off, and Jack is starting to frown, more in confusion than at Moira.

“You’re a farm boy. You ever had to, I dunno, breed cows and shit like that?” 

Jack grins, and for a second Gabe can see that same farm boy from thirty years ago. “Yeah, it was interesting. There was a glove that went up to your shoulder, and this big metal probe...thing…” he trails off as his smile fades and his eyes go back to Gabe’s dresser.

“She needed a semen sample. I. I explained. And she, well. Figured out a solution.” Gabe is a relatively shameless person, but something about this is hard to talk about. 

“Does it work?” Jack’s voice is quiet.

Gabe breathes in deep. Breathes out. “Yeah.”

The sound of the air filtration system is loud in Gabe’s ears.

“Show me.”

Gabe’s eyes dart over to Jack’s face. He’s not the Strike Commander right now, a billion dollars at his disposal and the lives of hundreds in his hands. He’s a tired forty-something man in a threadbare Overwatch t shirt, with mussed hair and the tips of his ears turning an oddly delicate pink, though he meets Gabe’s eyes steadily.

“What, on y- “

“Show me what you’ve been doing to yourself, Gabe.”

Their eyes lock for a long moment. Even as they’re having the silent conversation, Gabe isn’t quite sure what they’re saying. Eventually he gets up and gathers the machines, walking into his room. He sets them on the edge of his bed, stripping off his shirt as he goes to his nightstand to get the lube. When he turns, Jack is sitting there in the chair that faces his bed, the one that’s used as a dumping ground for files more than anything. 

He’s settled there like it’s the chair in his own office, legs crossed lazily and head propped up in one hand. Sharp eyes watch as Gabe strips off his sweatpants and underwear. This is the first time either one has been naked in front of the other for some years now - for security reasons they virtually never run missions together, and injury on those would likely be the only reason they’d be undressed in front of each other. 

Gabe wonders what he sees. Gabe is neither uncaring nor vain about his body - he works hard to be able to do what he has to do, and that involves rather a lot of muscle under scarred skin. It’s a tool, except now he’s using it for off-label purposes. 

He sets the units at the foot of the bed, kneels on the mattress next to them and sits back on his heels. The first few times he did this he’d collapsed after, but he has better control over what the machines do to him now, how far to push them without overwhelming himself. Gabe put fresh gel pads on the other day, and with a press they stick firmly to his hips. He clicks the unit on, eyes closing at the now-familiar tickle of electricity running through him. 

Gabe jerks at the feeling of calluses on sensitive skin. Jack somehow carried that heavy chair over without Gabe even noticing, and has a hand pressed to the stretch of skin between the pads. His fingers - long, thick, more scars than one would think for someone of his position - are pale from years in uniform gloves. Veins stand out under Gabe’s skin leading down to his groin, and Jack traces them almost thoughtlessly.

“What’s it doing?”

“Mild electrical current. Well, mild for us. Unhealthy for a normal person.” Gabe doesn’t look at the blond head below him as he grabs the lube, slicks his fingers up, reaches behind himself. He stretches himself open - he’s quite good at doing it fast by this point, but right now he takes it slow. His eyes are closed, he doesn’t know what Jack’s looking at but he can make a pretty good guess.

Finally deciding to move on, Gabe pulls his fingers out with an obscene squelching sound that seems to almost echo in the nearly silent room. He’s suddenly very aware of the sound of his own breathing, of the faint humming of the electronics. Wiping the remaining lube on his fingers onto the probe, Gabe spreads his knees a little wider and raises up on them. He sinks down until the probe is fully seated, biting back a sigh.

Gabe opens his eyes, looks down to meet Jack’s. He holds the gaze until he turns the probe unit on by feel, eyelids sliding shut in pleasure as the current gets stronger. He can hear Jack’s quick inhale of surprise as Gabe gets hard, his cock’s trajectory following the dial. 

He isn’t surprised to feel a warm hand wrap around him, starting to make slow movements that are familiar from a lifetime ago.

Gabe’s breath is just a little ragged. “You could do that all day and it wouldn’t do anything. It’s all the electricity. Get to a certain level, get hard. Get to another, orgasm. Not perfect, but.” He takes a breath, the current getting close to his limit. “It works.”

A hand works its way underneath Gabe’s on the machine, gently pushing his fingers away. “What level should it go to?”

Letting his hand fall away, Gabe leans back. “It’s close, just a little bit more. Jesus  _ fuck _ -” 

Jack twists the dial sharply, and Gabe’s head snaps back as his spine arches almost painfully. He’s coming harder than he has since perhaps that first time, and he isn’t sure if it’s due to the electricity or the feel of Jack’s hand around him and the knowledge that of who pulled this out of him. 

It’s so good, white fuzz in his brain and pinpricks of static in his veins. It goes on for too long and past too long - Gabe can’t unclench his teeth enough to talk, but the sound he manages to get out is loud and pained enough that Jack turns it down. As soon as it gets past the level of orgasm Gabe reaches a shaky hand out, turns it down gradually and controlled. He finally starts breathing normally when it’s off and all he can feel is the pleasant buzz of the TENS unit. 

Half hunched over, Gabe pries his eyes open to look at Jack. He’s sitting back in Gabe’s chair like he owns it, and the effect is ruined only by the thin streak of white trailing down his cheek. Gabe’s eyes are locked on it, on his come marking up Strike Commander Morrison’s face. 

If there was any way Gabe could get hard on his own, he would be right now.

“So it works,” Jack says, voice calm.

“It works. There are - risks, but I haven’t run into problems yet.” Gabe is sure there will be issues eventually - never trust technology - but for now he’ll keep the defibrillator pack next to him and hope for the best. 

“Hmm.” Jack sounds noncommittal, but Gabe knows him, knows that his brain is working furiously. There’s a rustle as he stands, a soft scrape as the chair is pushed back. Gabe’s looking up at him now, naked, sweaty, streaked with lubricant and his own seed. 

When Jack moves to go, Gabe’s hand darts out and grabs his wrist before he can think about what he’s doing. Jack stills and turns his head, the controlled movements of someone unused to being touched. Gabe lets his wrist go, reaches up. Jack’s eyes follow his hand until they can’t any more, switching their laser focus to Gabe as he slowly, carefully wipes his come off of Jack’s cheek with his thumb.

They’re frozen in that tableau for long seconds, until Jack finally steps away. He walks out, back straight, pace calm. He doesn’t look back.

Gabe licks his thumb clean as he watches Jack leave, then puts everything away with hands that shake with phantom vibrations.

-x-x-x-x-x-

They don’t talk about it, but it’s because the world is imploding. Jack is running around trying to quash uprisings in South America while Gabe is busy trying to get everything off the ground with the new Rome facility while simultaneously dealing with bullshit in Russia. Gabe’s surviving off of black coffee and uppers that he got Moira to make for him, holding on to everything by the skin of his teeth and with endless reminders programmed into his tablet. A week passes, then two, then more and Gabe doesn’t remember what it is to not be on the edge of an exhaustion-induced breakdown.

Eventually, finally, there’s a bit of a break. Lacroix seems to have everything in hand, everyone is off the injured list, and things aren’t calm exactly, but closer to their norm. The team is having a movie night, but Gabe begs off, claiming paperwork in his office. Instead he hides in his quarters, shuts all the lights off, and tells Athena to mark his status as ‘do not disturb’.

There’s a knock on his door that Gabe ignores. Learn to check statuses, asshole. A minute later, though, there’s a beep, and the sound of footsteps. Gabe doesn’t move, there’s only one person it could be.

“Paperwork, hmm?”

Gabe is slouched as low as he can go in his armchair, legs stretched out and with scotch in hand. He takes a long sip, glancing up at Jack as he swallows. “Don’t start.”

“I wasn’t going to.” He’s uncharacteristically in all black, and Gabe is pretty sure that the faded Blackwatch shirt he’s wearing that’s too tight in the shoulders and too loose in the chest belonged to Gabe at some point. Jack shrugs as Gabe raises an eyebrow.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had time to do laundry?”

“Thought that once you got the statue you’d have people to do that for you.”

“If only.” Jack rocks back on his socked heels slightly as Gabe drinks and waits. “I want you to use it on me.” 

“Jack -” Gabe doesn’t know what he’s protesting, or if he’s protesting at all. Seeing Jack in that position would be high on Gabe’s list of fantasies, if he bothered having those anymore. There’s something about it, though, something about using Moira’s dirty little equipment that’s been developed to deal with the monster that Gabe’s becoming - 

Gabe has no illusions of Jack’s purity, physical, moral, or otherwise, but he still doesn’t want him to be...contaminated. Like him. 

“The past month has been just as godawful for me as it has for you, and -” Jack looks away from Gabe, stares blankly out the dark window. “I just want something good for once.”

“I don’t know if ‘good’ is the right term for it,” Gabe says, but he’s already getting up out of his chair. He sheds his sweatshirt as he walks to his bedroom, tossing it somewhere to the side. Not looking back, he knows Jack will follow. 

“Strip,” he says, and gestures towards the bed. The units have been charging for days - he hasn’t had time to use them during the past few weeks. He swipes sanitizer over the already-clean probe, debating for a moment about putting a condom on it before realizing first that he doesn’t have any, and then that he doesn’t know what it might do to the current. It’s not like either of them could carry anything.

Gabe turns to find Jack on his bed, kneeling in the position Gabe had been in before. He takes a shameless moment to look Jack over. Back in the day his chest had always been so smooth - Gabe had always argued with himself as to whether he shaved, waxed, or was just oddly hairless there. Now, however, Jack’s chest is a tangle of blond hair fading at the edges to white, leading in a thick line downward to his soft - always soft, ever soft - cock. 

They’ve changed, both of them, in the years since they last slept together. Some was the end of what SEP did - broadening shoulders, thickening thighs, letting muscle build more than should be possible. Far more is just changes brought by the ravages of time. Jack isn’t as scarred as Gabe - he doesn’t throw himself into danger quite as much nowadays - but there are pale lines, ruddy lines, purple lines that mark him up all over. 

The irony, of course, is how SEP lets them heal so much faster and more completely than any normal person. The injuries that leave scars are almost always enough to kill anyone who wasn’t them.

Gabe knows without looking that Jack’s pinkie finger on his left hand is a joint too short, knows that his left fibula is made of titanium, could probably find the scar that curves from behind his right ear around the back of his head by touch even though it’s covered by hair. 

So...sure. Maybe he deserves something good. 

“Lie back,” Gabe says, and Jack does so readily. The bed is unmade because Gabe’s had better things to do, and the sight of Jack stretched out like he belongs there pulls at something in Gabe’s chest. Not the spark of failed arousal, but something deeper. More honest, more raw. Even more of something Gabe isn’t allowed to have.

He ignores himself with the ease of long practice and settles himself in next to Jack, folding up his leg so his knee nestles into the curve of a muscled waist. He runs a hand over Jack’s skin, and neither say anything about how the skin jumps under his fingers and his muscles tense up. Gabe gets it - they’re unused to touch without pain, now. 

Trying to find a patch of hairless skin to attach the electrodes to is a challenge - he doesn’t know if it’s necessary, but it’s what Moira had done so he figures he’d better stick with it. The pads end up low on Jack’s hips, just to the side of where hip bone and muscle curves inwards. Gabe flicks the TENS unit on, goes to around a medium intensity, where he starts to feel it. Jack’s eyes fly open from where they’d been just this side of clenched shut.

“Oh.”

It’s been a long damn time since Gabe’s heard that tone in Jack’s voice, and it used to be because Gabe had his mouth wrapped around some interesting part of the other man’s body. Now it’s just that soft sound of surprise and wonder and pleasure as blue eyes unfaded by the decades stare blankly up at the ceiling. Gabe turns it up a bit, lets Jack take it in.

Gabe tucks the blanket edge around the unit so it won’t go anywhere, and gets up to grab the other one and the bottle of lube. A tap on the inside of Jack’s knees and he obligingly moves them apart, exposing himself to Gabe. He has to take a second - it was automatic, and Jack responded just like he used to. He settles himself, pale legs to either side of him.

“I can do this, or you can. Up to you.”

Jack doesn’t hesitate. “You.”

Gabe pulls Jack closer with hands on his waist, reaches over and grabs a pillow to tilt Jack’s hips up towards him. There’s the faint scent of the sandalwood soap that he’s been using variations of for decades, and the hair here is clean and almost fluffy. There’s something percolating in the back of Gabe’s brain about Jack showering before he came over, but he tries to ignore it. 

Taking a deep breath, Gabe reaches up and touches Strike Commander Jack Morrison’s cock for the first time in more than twenty years. 

It’s why he’s been so hesitant, almost awkward about this in a way that Gabe never is about anything else. He and Jack used to be everything to each other. Then sex was ripped away from them, and their relationship changed. Still the trust, still the love, but it all was irrevocably altered. It was the timing, more than anything - Gabe could have seen him and Jack together for a long time even without sex, but they finished SEP not long after and were thrown into the chaos of the newly formed Overwatch. Then it was all scrambling, Jack and Gabe neck and neck towards the top until Gabe was asked if he wanted to turn his trajectory sideways. He said yes, and it was another, far larger crack between them than losing sexual attraction ever was. 

It wasn’t when they stopped fucking that they stopped sharing a bed, it was when Gabe started putting on black in the morning instead of blue.

But now Gabe’s fingers are sliding smoothly into Jack’s warmth like they’d never left, and Jack is inhaling sharply, and Gabe cannot begin to figure out what the hell he’s feeling right now. He turns his fingers, strokes over Jack’s prostate out of habit, but there’s no reaction. Gabe focuses on getting Jack ready for the probe, but spends more time than he should feeling around soft, wet muscle. 

He finally pulls his fingers out, slicks up the probe. Slides it in, slowly. Jack tenses even though it’s not turned on yet. Gabe rubs a soothing hand over his thigh, tells him to relax. He turns the unit on, dials it up to where he usually gets hard. Jack makes a noise, something like surprise, something like pleasure. He pushes himself up on his elbows, stares down at his groin.

Gabe doesn’t know if he should be concerned or not at how he remembers every detail of what Jack looks like hard. The slight curve towards his stomach, the vein that starts underneath and twines up the side, that bit on the left where his circumcision scar is a bit jagged because Jack is a good, cut Catholic boy. The first time he’d got his hands on Gabe’s intact dick he was like a kid in a candy shop, watching in fascination at how the skin would slide. Gabe had come with laughter on his lips and the knowledge that they were good, so good together.

He increases the voltage slowly. “It’s not like...normal. It’s all internal, you don’t have to touch yourself, you’ll come regardless.” Turn the dial up, bit by bit. “I still do. Just to remember.”

Jack lays back down, hands at his sides. Gabe is getting close to where he usually comes - he doesn’t know if it’ll be the same for Jack or not. He’s pausing longer and longer between the small clicks, and Jack’s fingers are knotted into the sheets. Gabe glances up to see how he’s doing, and sees mostly the long scruffy line of Jack’s throat and the underside of his chin. 

“Gabe.” It’s rough, raspy. “Just -”

Another minute click up. He wants to hear him say it.

“God - Gabe,  _ please _ .” 

There it is. Gabe turns it up until where he usually comes, sees that Jack is still clenching his fists and trying not to jerk his hips. He keeps going, and it’s where Gabe would be nearly insensate with too much current that Jack finally comes. 

Those perfect balls of his snug up tight underneath his cock, which jerks and twitches, come going everywhere without a hand on his dick to direct it. Jack is making small noises in the back of his throat, words that die before ever getting near his mouth. Gabe keeps the voltage up, waits until Jack comes dry for a good few seconds before turning it down slowly and steadily. Jack relaxes back onto the bed, eyes shut and breathing slow. Gabe pulls the probe out, goes to the bathroom to clean and sanitize it. He comes back with a damp washcloth, pulls the electrode pads off of Jack and puts it all away before wiping him down.

Gabe sits on the bed, where he was before, and runs his hand over Jack’s shoulder. He remembers that first time, how he twitched and shook after and the pressure of Moira’s hands on his spasming muscles were the only thing that calmed things down. Jack, though?

Jack is fast asleep. 

His face is slack, relaxed in a way that makes him seem like perhaps he’s just a man, not someone with the burdens of the world on his shoulders. Gabe gets up and fishes Jack’s tablet on of the pocket of his pants, sets it on the nightstand next to him in case he has an alarm programmed. Instead of bothering to try and get the sheets out from under Jack’s heavy, insensate body, he quietly asks Athena to click the temperature up a few degrees, and grabs a spare blanket out from the closet.

Gabe curls up next to someone in bed for the first time in a long, long time, and falls asleep quickly. When he wakes the next morning he’s alone, although the sheets next to him are warm and his back is cooling in a way that feels like someone had just been there.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Life goes on.

They train, go on missions, handle uprisings and battles in this place and that, try desperately to get ahead of it all. Jack still shows up in Gabe’s quarters, having shed his commander persona and needing to expel the venom he’s had stored up. But now, sometimes, he’ll catch Gabe’s eye in a certain way after ranting himself out. Even though he now knows exactly how everything works, Jack lets - wants? - Gabe to do everything: stretching him out, getting him off. 

Gabe pushes, sees what Jack will allow him to do. He has marked on the machine Jack’s preferences (lower TENS current, higher probe voltage), and he plays with them. Keeps him on the edge of coming for long minutes, sees exactly what it will take to make Jack Morrison beg. Jack likes it when Gabe wraps a hand around him, not jacking him off necessarily, but holding him firmly, securely. Safely. Sometimes Gabe keeps him coming for long after he should, one hand pressed to Jack’s chest or wrapped around the pulse in his throat to make sure his heartbeat stays steady.

God, Gabe wished he could get hard on his own, because the sight of those pretty blue eyes filling with overstimulated tears is something that would star in every fantasy he longs to have.

That’s not exactly true, though. Gabe does fantasize uselessly, he just is barely willing to admit it to himself. It’s not about fucking Jack, though of course he does miss that, misses the feeling of muscle clenching around him, of filling tight, warm spaces, of finding a rhythm with someone else. It’s afterwards, when Jack has fallen asleep - Gabe had forgotten how orgasms were like knockout drops to the bastard - that his brain drifts. 

Drifts to wrapping his arms around a broad chest, to nuzzling into the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. To just - kissing. Gabe feels almost guilty, perhaps angry at himself, for thinking about it so much. For wanting it. Maybe that’s just what happens to a man when he’s spent that many years not touching anyone except for violence.

-x-x-x-x-x-

One day Jack walks in, doesn’t even use the pretense of bitching about something. “Get naked,” he says in that tone of voice that makes everyone want to listen and obey.

Well. Mostly everyone. Gabe doesn’t move from his desk. “Try asking politely.”

A sigh from behind him. “I want to try something, Gabe. Would you mind getting naked and hard for me?” Still no ‘please’, but there’s a light in Jack’s eyes when Gabe turns around that makes him shrug and pull off his shirt.

He figures Jack wants to see him get off. That happens sometimes - he’ll watch with a neutral expression as Gabe works himself up. His eyes are always a bit wider than they should be, pupils a bit larger, color a bit higher. Jack can’t get anything physically out of it, but Gabe gets it. Every time he watches Jack get off, it’s...something. Something pleasurable in seeing another person fall apart, even if you can’t do the same.

Gabe is most of the way through his routine when he lets Jack push him onto his back. He goes along with it, brain muzzy with endorphins. He looks up to find Jack straddling his thighs and naked for some reason, staring down at him with a complicated expression on his face.

“Whattiz it?” he mumbles. 

Jack shakes his head. “Just stay right like that,” he murmurs. Gabe does, closing his eyes. It’s a night when he’s been staying at a few clicks below being able to come - not so high that he’s going crazy with need, but overwhelming enough to shut most of his brain off. He can feel Jack doing something by his thigh, but he’s not paying much attention to it.

He’s just thinking about turning the unit up and coming when Jack’s hand knocks Gabe’s away from his dick. Gabe’s eyes slit open, only to see Jack moving up the bed, watching carefully so his knees don’t pull the wires off of Gabe’s abdomen.

“What are you - oh jesusfuckinchrist.” The words come out in a rush as Jack steadies himself with a hand on Gabe’s chest and sinks down on his dick. It’s smooth, slick - he must have been stretching himself out. It’s so incredibly fucking good, hot tight pressure around him, but Jack can’t be getting anything out of this -

Jack runs his thumb over where Gabe’s eyebrows have drawn down. “Stop thinking. Let me have this.” He tugs the probe unit out of Gabe’s nerveless fingers, pushes it up a click and starts to move his hips. 

Gabe can’t do anything but stare up, look at the man having sex with him with no immediately apparent benefit to himself. Jack seems to be enjoying himself despite his softness, though - there’s a sheen of sweat on his shoulders and he’s thrusting down onto Gabe like if he tries hard enough he’ll break through. His head is hanging down, and Gabe would bet he’s looking at where their bodies are meeting. That’s where Gabe’s eyes keep going, in any event.

His hands had locked around Jack’s thighs without him noticing. Gabe frees one of them, reaches up to thread it through Jack’s hair. He leans into the touch automatically, letting Gabe cradle his head. The skin under his hair is so warm and growing damp with sweat. 

Gabe jerks as Jack turns the dial up. “Jack…” he says warningly. He’s close, so close.

Jack moves his head up, looks Gabe in the eyes for the first time since he told him to strip. “Come on,” he says in a voice low with strain and emotion. “I need you to come for me.”

He clicks the unit past the point of no return, and Gabe’s hand clenches in Jack’s hair to what’s surely a painful degree. He pants as he comes, lost in the feeling of his cock pulsing into somewhere warm and close and wet. Jack, even as his head is trapped by Gabe’s hand, looks positively beatific, eyes closed in in an expression of utmost relaxation that’s maybe even edging over towards bliss.

Jack keeps him going for longer than Gabe ever does to himself, until a thin noise of pain finally comes out of Gabe’s throat. He blinks his eyes open, seemingly recalling that no, this wasn’t exactly a normal sexual encounter. Jack turnes the dial down slowly, Gabe inhaling sharply as he feels himself soften inside Jack, feels his come slide around him. Jack sits upright, arches his back. His vertebrae sound off with a painful sounding series of pops. Lifting a leg over Gabe, he gets off the bed. Gabe can’t tear his eyes away from the drip of translucent white slowly making its way down his inner thigh.

To Gabe’s surprise, Jack is getting dressed. He has his underwear and shirt on before Gabe says, “You’re leaving?” He hopes it doesn’t sound as needy as it did to him.

“I’ve got a teleconference with country leaders in Canberra in an hour,” he says, and Gabe attempts not to choke as he watches Jack lean over to get his pants, wet spot on the back of his underwear obvious.

“Anything you need help with?” Gabe tries to keep his voice steady.

“Not right now, though there’s definitely a chance in the future. The Australian Liberation Front is getting noisy again, we’re going to see what’s needed to calm them down. Might be something we could use your help on eventually.”

They talk for a minute more before Jack leaves, but Gabe doesn’t remember any of it afterwards. All he can recall thinking about is Jack in a meeting with Gabe’s come slowly seeping out of him.

-x-x-x-x-x-

They might have continued on like that, going back and forth in using the machines on each other, for god knows how long...until Gabe fucks up.

He has one hand pressed to Jack’s chest, the other fiddling with the probe’s dial. He’s watching Jack’s face closely, enjoying when he twitches. It’s even better when his eyes fly open and blindly stare up in pleasure when Gabe moves the voltage in just the right way or runs his nails up Jack’s side or the like. The next time Gabe turns the dial, however, there’s a pause.

Under the hand resting on Jack’s heart.

Jack blinks slowly, the haze clearing just a bit, and he turns his head to meet Gabe’s eyes. There’s a heavy beat, a pause, two more, and then Jack’s eyelids slide shut unevenly and uncontrolled as there’s silence under Gabe’s hand. 

Shit. 

Gabe turns the dial down as quickly as he dares - noticing before he does that he was a full four clicks below the danger zone that Moira had marked out, Jack hadn’t even come yet - and yanks the probe out, tearing off the electrode pads with his other hand and not bothering to turn the TENS unit off before tossing it aside. Two steps brings him to his desk where the defibrillator rests, and he’s back at Jack’s side in moments. He presses one hand to Jack’s chest, one to the pulse in his neck. It’s not beating, it’s...fluttering faintly? Training takes over: open - pull out the pads - one upper chest - one lower side - plug in - 

He waits, hands hovering above Jack’s chest as he watches the screen of the unit diagnose the issue.  _ Ventricular fibrillation _ it flashes, before starting to shock Jack. Nothing happens after the first, or the second.  _ Arrhythmia _ keeps blinking on the screen. Another few shocks, and Gabe is has his mouth open to call for Athena to contact medical when  _ cardioversion _ shows up on the screen for a long second, before  _ sinus rhythm achieved _ is displayed. 

Gabe leaves the pads on, but reaches up to Jack’s face. “Jack. Jackie? Can you hear me?” He’s breathing steadily, and his heartbeat is strong under Gabe’s fingers. It’s still a long, breathless half minute before Jack’s eyes slowly open. There are slow blinks before he focuses enough to meet Gabe’s eyes. Gabe lets out a slow, shaky breath.

His head tilts forward until his forehead rests against Jack’s, his skin damp and warm. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” His voice is rough, but it’s there. Alive.

Gabe gets up just long enough to turn the TENS unit off and toss everything onto a chair, before turning off the lights and getting into bed. He doesn’t stay on what he’s started to think of his side of the bed, instead resting his head on Jack’s chest so he can hear the beat under his ear. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to fall asleep until a hand comes up and strokes over his head.

His hair is buzzed short now, not the long locks he’d had in his twenties when he had the energy to actually maintain a hairstyle. Jack had never said anything about particularly liking it, but he’d spent hours with his hands buried in Gabe’s hair, stroking through until the gel had worn away to softness and the tangles were out. He’s making the same movements now, even though it’s less than an inch long and speckled with grey.

“I don’t remember the last time you called me ‘Jackie’,” comes a rumble from under Gabe’s ear.

Gabe lets his eyes close, and falls asleep to the steady beat against his cheek.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Four hours ago, Gabe had a broken wrist. Two hours ago, he and Jack were bellowing in each others’ faces about how much attention they should be paying to those assholes in Monaco. Now Gabe is finally alone in his room - his wrist is sore but not broken any longer, and he doesn’t think he and Jack will be talking to each other any time soon.

It’s both surprising and not when his door opens late that night. What’s a person to do when they need to talk with their emotional outlet, but that same person is who you’re fighting with?

If you’re Jack Morrison, you walk in without so much as a hello, and start taking off your clothes as you say - order, really - “Fuck me.”

“No,” Gabe says easily, and turns another page in his book without looking up. 

“If this is about earlier, can we just set it aside for the moment?” Jack sounds tired - what else is new, Gabe is exhausted too - and that’s what has Gabe looking up at him. 

“Seriously, Jack? The last time we did this I fucking killed you!” Gabe would be embarrassed at the cracking in his voice, but it’s too damn important. “We survived this goddamn long, I’m not throwing away your life just so you can get off.” He’s on his feet and isn’t sure when that happened.

“It’s not just that, you  _ know _ it’s not just that,” Jack hisses at him, eyes bright with anger. Gabe knows exactly that, told that to Moira in so many words but -

“I am not killing you again. Don’t ask me to do that. Not - I can’t, Jack.”

Jack blinks, seems to process the quiet, desperate resolve in Gabe’s voice, along with a thousand things unsaid and lurking at the edges of the words. He stands there, sweatpants low on his hips and shirtless, looking most lost than anything else. Bending over to grab his shirt up off of the edge of the bed, he says, “I’ll just -”

“For fuck’s sake,” Gabe sighs, and steps forward. He pulls Jack into his arms, drops his head to rest against his shoulder. Jack’s slow at first, careful, but then he’s holding on to Gabe so tightly that the dividing lines between their bodies have fuzzed out, become meaningless. Jack smells of soap and sandalwood, of laundry detergent and a faint tang of salt and skin. Gabe wants to know if he tastes like he smells.

It’s a bad idea, Gabe tells himself as he drags his nose up Jack’s throat and under his jaw, feels the stubble that he can never quite get rid of. Every once in awhile they work together to overcome their broken dicks and get off: this isn’t romance, that died a sad little death a quarter century ago. They don’t do _this_.

He’s still saying that to himself as he presses his mouth to Jack’s pulse, feeling the thrum of blood under the thin skin of his lips. Feeling it speed up is what gets him to open his mouth a little, get the scrape of prickly skin under his tongue. Distantly Gabe can tell that Jack’s less holding onto him and more digging his fingers painfully into Gabe’s back, but he has more important things to focus on right now.

Jack’s breath is rough as Gabe mouths his way up, feeling his way with lips and occasional teeth. He’s just nipping at his earlobe when Jack pulls back, one hand having unlocked enough to grab on hard to Gabe’s jaw. There’s color high on his cheeks and his eyes are thin rings of blue in the dim light - even through all those orgasms, Jack never looked like this.

“What are you doing?”

Fuck if Gabe knows. “I have no idea,” he says honestly. He doesn’t know what his own face looks like, but whatever Jack sees is enough to make him lean forward and kiss Gabe. 

It’s...fuck, it’s good. They’re both hesitant at first - Gabe doesn’t know what Jack’s been doing the past few decades, but it’s been a long time since Gabe’s kissed anyone at all, let alone someone like Jack. Jack, who blows past Gabe’s restraint to grab his face with his other hand, yanking him close. Who pushes forward so intently that Gabe is walking backwards until he’s stumbling to a stop by the bed. Who shoves Gabe down and climbs on top of him, picking up right where he left off.

Gabe can’t breathe, it’s like the air is liquid and simmering in his lungs and he doesn’t want to move away from Jack to get any relief. He’s got one hand between Jack’s shoulderblades and the other creeping down to rest on the curve of his ass, pressing inwards uselessly. 

Useless because they could make out until the end of time, but that’s all that’s going to happen. Downstairs is still just as defective as ever. 

He must be doing something to communicate the path his thoughts have gone down, because Jack is pulling back. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs into the corner of Gabe’s mouth, pressing a kiss there before folding his arms on top of Gabe’s collarbone and propping his chin up on them. Thanks, Jack. It’s not like he needs to breathe or anything with a few hundred pounds of muscle on his chest.

“You said it first, Jackie. What are we doing?”

Jack doesn’t say anything, just shifts so he has a hand free. He combs through Gabe’s beard, seemingly intent on what he’s doing. A finger finds the scar that cuts through Gabe’s lower lip, traces it until it blends into skin.

“We didn’t stop being together when SEP cracked us,” he finally says. “It wasn’t not having sex that made us break up.”

Gabe’s mouth moves under Jack’s finger. “You know what did.”

It’s like Jack’s a hologram, two faces shimmering through each other. One is the Jack of old, tracing the edge of Gabe’s lip and making half-movements to push it into his mouth. The other is the Jack of now. Tired, held together by a leather coat and sheer determination. He looks Gabe in the eyes and the two snap into one. 

“I think it was the right choice.” Gabe opens his mouth but Jack is already shaking his head. “No, stop, Gabe. Think about it. We were both newly minted commanders, and to this day we’re working with each other half the time and against each other the other half. How do you think we would have handled those early years if we were sharing a bed along with everything else? And not even able to fuck it out.”

He’s right, loathe as Gabe is to admit it. But the past isn’t what they’re talking about, is it?

“That was then. What’s happening now?”

Jack shifts forward, wraps one hand around Gabe’s neck and the other behind his head, tilting it forward. The kiss is slow, languid. Not sweet, they’re too battered and bloodstained inside and out for that. But - good, all the same. Gabe pulls Jack into him, slides a hand up to rest on his spine. Jack teases Gabe’s lips open, tastes him for the first time in a long time.

Gabe feels like there’s syrup under his skin. It’s not building into arousal - it can’t, but just this is enough. Being able to touch another person like he’s allowed to. Having that person be Jack. Gabe sucks a little on Jack’s tongue, uses all those nearly-forgotten tricks to try and get sounds out of him. He obliges, little sighs and moans that make the heat under Gabe’s skin flow faster. He gives a gentle bite to Jack’s lip, kisses his way down his throat to taste the hollow made where the tendons of his neck meet his collarbone and salt sweat gathers. 

They eventually come to a stop, many minutes later. Gabe rolls Jack off of him -  _ You’re fucking heavy _ \- and they settle. Gabe feels oddly content, and it’s not something that he’s used to. Heavy lidded eyes glance past Jack and settle on the equipment on his dresser. It surprises him to realize that if he could have this, if he could have Jack in his arms again, that shit could rust away for all he cared.

It’s a startling and not completely welcome realization.

They’ve been stumbling through whatever this haphazard relationship is the best they can, but it doesn’t change how they’re trying to run their organizations and that means having the kind of conversations and arguments that aren’t good for romance.

He haltingly says as much to Jack, who sighs and nods. He props his head up on one hand, the other on Gabe’s chest tracing abstract patterns and occasionally thumbing at a nipple through his threadbare shirt. “We’re not just jumping back into a relationship, Gabe. That’s foolish. But perhaps, when we’re done for the day -” He shrugs, leans down to drop a kiss onto Gabe’s shoulder. “Maybe we could have something again. Just for us.”

It’s going to involve a lot of talking, figuring out what they’re going to do. But perhaps, perhaps. 

“What are you up to tomorrow?”

“Late start for once, nothing until a meeting with Ana and then a lunch meeting in Munich for...I don’t even remember at this point. You?”

“Up early, going over to Rome with McCree to have Gérard take us through the new facility. He said he has something on Talon and the connections to Oslo. Shouldn’t take long, hopefully we’ll be back before dinner.”

“After you get back, stop by my quarters.” The warm hand that’s snaked underneath Gabe’s shirt says exactly what they’ll be doing there. It would be new, being in Jack’s rooms. The equipment is here with Gabe so that’s where they’ve always been, but if they’re trying out just them, then why not?

“You need to go anywhere tonight?” Jack shakes his head. Gabe gets up, turns the lights off, strips down to his underwear. Jack’s already under the covers.

He wraps Jack up in himself, arms encircling, leg thrown over. It’s strange that he gets to do this with anyone at all, much less Jack. Jack, who wriggles into position and is soon breathing soft snores into Gabe’s chest. Jack, who Gabe has been having dreams about killing lately - blue lips and bloodshot eyes, staring up at Gabe and mouthing voicelessly,  _ Why did you do this to me again? _ Jack, who is three decades of tangled personal and professional threads, a knot that Gabe doesn’t even know how to begin to unravel.

This might work, though. They might work. Gabe just has to go to Rome, check in with Gérard, and everything will be fine.

They’ve made it through everything so far, they can make it through this. Tomorrow will pass quickly and he’ll be back with Jack before he knows it.

For some reason, it still takes Gabe hours to fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading friends, come yell with/at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/thereweregiants)


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